


A Very Good Bad Idea

by Linsky



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Quarantimes, slightly creepy behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsky/pseuds/Linsky
Summary: Patrick doesn’t think before he takes the screenshot.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 33
Kudos: 388





	A Very Good Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dixieland33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixieland33/gifts).



> Heavily inspired by [this Tumblr ask](https://linskywords.tumblr.com/post/621859090810978304/jonny-looking-good-and-smiley-makes-me-think-of). I...I don't even know, guys.

Patrick almost doesn’t answer the phone when Jonny FaceTimes him. His sisters just went out to the pool, and he’s about to join them, and it feels like his whole life has been Zoom calls lately. But he sees that it’s Jonny, so he swipes right to pick up.

“Hey,” he says, “can’t talk, about to go eat in a crowded restaurant.”

“No, you’re not,” Jonny says easily.

“I could be,” Patrick mutters. He’s definitely bored enough to by this point.

Jonny just grins at him. Sometimes he’s ridiculously easy to wind up, but evidently this is not one of those times. He looks really chill, actually: relaxed and happy, leaning against the railing of his balcony, all of Chicago spread out behind him. “You manage to get your sisters to move in with you?”

“Yup, mission accomplished,” Patrick says. He filled Jonny in on his plans to invite his sisters to stay when they talked a few days ago. He and Jonny have been talking a couple of times a week since the pandemic started. It’s not how they usually roll in the summers—usually they spend so much time together during the season that they give themselves a break when the season ends. This isn’t the summer, though. It isn’t anything—just a weird frozen span of months out of time. Patrick has a feeling that both of them feel the need for a lifeline to normalcy right now. 

“You have to offer bribes?” Jonny asks.

Patrick scoffs. “Excuse you, like anyone needs bribes to hang out with me.”

“I’m sure the swimming pool doesn’t hurt,” Jonny says.

Patrick opens his mouth to reply, and Jess yells at him to get his butt out there. “Hey, sorry,” he says, “we were just about to start a thing. Can we talk later?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Jonny says. “I’ll give you a call.” And then—Patrick doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t usually take screenshots of random FaceTime calls. It’s just that Jonny looks way happier than he has any other time they’ve talked this spring, this whole glowy tan thing going on that Patrick never manages himself, and Patrick just—gets his thumb and finger on the buttons. Takes a screenshot without thinking about it.

He doesn’t think about it after he does it, either. He goes out to the pool and ekes out a win in a vicious game of water volleyball, and the screenshot doesn’t cross his mind again. Until later that night.

To be clear, he’s not planning to do anything involving the screenshot. He’s got his hand on his cock, heading for a good old-fashioned jerk-off session, and he’s looking for material. He snagged some photos off the internet today, saved them to his photo app, so he opens it up and starts scrolling.

Yeah, this is the stuff. Nothing like looking at a little boob action to get himself off. And this girl’s ass—oh, yeah. Patrick can feel it building now, his breath coming fast, heat spreading through his gut.

He scrolls to the next picture, and it’s Jonny’s face.

It’s a shock: Patrick had basically forgotten he took that picture, and it’s not something he was hoping to find in the middle of jerking off. It should be a total boner-killer—no one wants to look at their bro’s face while they’re in the middle of some quality dick time. It should be a boner-killer, except that it’s not. As soon as he sees it, a zing goes through his whole body, and he finds himself fucking his fist so hard he can barely breathe.

He’s not jerking off _to_ the picture of Jonny, obviously. It’s just that Jonny’s face happens to be there, tan and laughing and happy, and all of a sudden every stroke of Patrick’s hand is magic. He remembers the way Jonny’s face was lit up during their conversation, remembers Jonny’s eyes crinkling as he looked warmly at the screen, as he looked at _Patrick_ , and Patrick is—is—

He comes so hard he can’t even see for a minute. The orgasm slams through him, rocking him so hard he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. That’s the last thing he needs, his sisters mocking him mercilessly because they heard him coming.

Coming to a picture of Jonny’s face.

No. It wasn’t _about_ Jonny’s face. Jonny’s face just happened to be there when he hit the peak, is all. Patrick would obviously never actually jerk off to his friend and teammate.

He closes the photo app so that he can’t see the screenshot anymore. The afterglow has its claws in him, dragging him down toward sleep, and he’s not in any mood to fight it. He rolls over and lets himself drop off.

***

Patrick doesn’t think about the screenshot the next day. He doesn’t think about it so hard, in fact, that he doesn’t even go into his photo app to delete the porn pics, which he would normally do before his sisters can find them and mock him for them. There’s no rush, though. There are plenty of other things to think about in his life, like his workout routine and how to beat his sisters at bocce and whether this quarantine will ever end.

He still doesn’t think about it when Jonny calls him back in the afternoon. They shoot the shit for a while, the way they have been every few days during the interminable season pause. Jonny bugs him about his workout routine and gushes about the opportunities for activism in Chicago, and Patrick tells him unnecessarily to be careful and asks about his family. It’s good, the way their whole friendship has been good for the past few years, and Patrick doesn’t want to think about any potential complications.

He doesn’t even think about the thing with the picture as he jerks off that night. He looks up some porn video, one with a girl who makes really great sounds—but it kind of isn’t doing it for him, and that’s frustrating after how good his orgasm was last night.

Well, those pictures from yesterday were good. No harm in going back to them.

He taps on his photo app, and it opens to a picture of Jonny’s face.

Patrick gasps and speeds his hand up on his cock. He should scroll away. He really should. But it’s hard to make himself when suddenly his hand on his cock feels like flying. A picture appears in his head—he’s gonna let it, just for a moment—of how Jonny is maybe doing something just like this right now, a couple hundred miles away. Jonny probably had a long day, spent some time in the sunshine, and now he’s splayed across his bed, hand on his cock. His skin tan against the white of his sheets. He probably has his eyes screwed up, jerking himself off, maybe even thinking about Patrick—

Oh fuck. Patrick’s hips jerk up into his hand, and he is gone, gone, gone.

He lies there panting afterward. That was…not great. Once was bad enough, but he could write that off as coincidence. Twice is dangerous.

The thing is, though, that the whole world is weird right now. Patrick hasn’t seen anybody except his sisters in days. It would be stranger if he _weren’t_ having a little bit of internal weirdness, really.

Still, though, it’s probably gone far enough. Better to back off now, before he really has something to worry about.

***

He does back off, too. The next day he goes into his photo app and deletes the most recent photos without looking at them. He’s even planning to not jerk off that night, just to be on the safe side. But then he lies down for a nap in the afternoon, after a brutal game of capture the flag, and he realizes as he stretches out between the sheets that he’s a little bit turned on.

Well, he can still jerk off and think about other things. It would probably be good, actually. Refresh the mind a little. He pops in his headphones and calls up a porn video.

It goes better today than it did last night. Patrick’s totally getting close, that feeling at the base of his spine like a firework about to go off, when the phone rings.

It’s the worst timing. He’s super close, and he set the phone aside a minute ago, content to listen to the sounds from the video, so now he can’t even find it. He gropes in the sheets for it—finds it, but can’t figure out which way it’s facing—only manages to turn the volume up—wait, if he just taps on his earbud—

Jonny’s voice bursts into his ears. “Hey,” he says, all happy and warm. “Good news; I just got off the phone with—”

Sizzling fire catches at the base of Patrick’s spine. It shoots up his legs, electric and hot, and he’s gone: throwing his head back and arching his spine and coming all over himself.

There’s a suspended moment where there’s nothing but sensation: good, good, so good he can’t even believe it. Then he starts to come back to himself with a feeling of creeping horror.

Did he just—he did. He just came. Over the phone. With Jonny.

“Uh, hi,” Patrick says as brightly as he can. It might sound convincing. He’s panicking a little too hard to tell. “Sorry. I was just—asleep. I was asleep.”

“Are you okay?” Jonny asks slowly.

He sounds weird. Does he sound weird? Does he know? What kinds of sounds did Patrick make, anyway?

He suddenly very much hopes that Jonny has him on speaker phone or something. Or maybe his earbuds are running out of juice. Anything that’ll make it impossible to be sure what he really heard. “Yeah, just, you know, disorienting,” Patrick says. “I forgot to take my headphones out, so I was pretty startled.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jonny says. He sounds more normal now. “I can call you back later.”

“Yeah, that would probably be good. Tonight?”

“Sure.” And there it is again: that pause, that little bit of silence that might be weird or it might only be Patrick’s imagination. “Talk to you soon.”

“Bye!” Patrick says, cheerful and hopefully not desperate.

Jonny hangs up, and Patrick collapses across the pillows, alone with the hot flush of embarrassment that can’t quite disguise the warm glow in his gut.

He just came on the phone with Jonny. Not just on the phone with Jonny—to the sound of Jonny’s voice in his ear. It wasn’t on purpose, obviously, and he was already super close when Jonny called, but—he can’t quite forget that feeling. The charge that ran through him when Jonny’s voice spoke in his ear. It’s hard to pretend that didn’t happen when even the memory of it sends hot shivers through him.

Maybe he has, like, an exhibitionist streak. Maybe no matter who had called, he would have gotten off to it. Maybe it’s a coincidence that it was Jonny.

Yeah, sure. What was he telling himself about coincidences last night?

There’s one last piece of comfort available to him. Jonny doesn’t actually know anything. Maybe he suspects, but knowing him, he’ll never bring it up. Patrick will never bring it up either, he’ll stop jerking off to Jonny, and it’ll be like it never happened.

***

Jonny does call that night. Patrick’s been waiting, wondering, worrying maybe a little too much about how it’s going to go.

Jonny sounds totally normal, though. “Hey, sorry for waking you up earlier,” he says. “I just wanted to tell you what I heard from Stan about playoffs.”

“Yeah?” Patrick says, perking up immediately. Now there’s a subject he can get behind. Who even cares about embarrassing phone occurrences, when there might be hockey to play? “We have a date for camp yet?”

It’s not finalized, but it’s looking more promising than it has all spring. Jonny’s worried about safety, worried about setting a good example, and Patrick talks him through it the best he can. This is what the two of them are good at.

They talk long enough that Patrick starts to get sleepy. He’s starting to think he might want to wrap up the call soon, head toward sleep, when Jonny hesitates for a second and then says, “So.”

Patrick’s instantly on the alert. He’s been in enough relationships, and pissed off enough women related to him, to recognize the opening of a serious conversation when he hears one.

“Yeah?” he says, trying to sound chiller than he feels. He’s definitely not sleepy now.

“So, uh, this afternoon,” Jonny says. “You said I woke you up from sleeping, right?”

Forget being on the alert. Patrick’s basically a living alarm bell. “Uh, yeah,” he says, still affecting casualness. “I mean, it was no big deal. I was just napping.”

“Right,” Jonny says, his voice faltering. “I was just thinking…”

He’s silent for a long moment, during which Patrick does not breathe at all. Then, “No, sorry, never mind.”

“No, what?” Patrick says. He can’t stand this kind of suspense. If Jonny actually knows something, Patrick wants him to spit it out.

“You weren’t…doing something else?” Jonny asks.

There it is. Jonny could be talking about anything, but he isn’t. It’s right there in his voice.

Patrick’s pulse is beating in his throat. He could deny it, pretend Jonny’s crazy—but no, that wouldn’t work. There are better ways to deal with this. He hasn’t been in locker rooms since well before puberty for nothing.

He makes himself laugh. “Yeah, okay, you got me,” he says. “I was, uh, _really_ enjoying my nap. Guess I shouldn’t have left the AirPods in.”

“Oh,” Jonny says, like he’s startled. Which he shouldn’t be, considering that he had obviously guessed it. But maybe he hadn’t expected Patrick to admit it. “Yeah, that’s, wow. Bad timing.”

“Yup. Sorry for traumatizing you with how hot I sounded,” Patrick says.

The relief is obvious in Jonny’s voice. They’re on easy ground now. “Sure. Whatever you have to tell yourself, Peeks.”

Patrick’s almost free and clear now. It would be easy to say something final, let the subject change. He’d probably never have to talk about it again.

He could do that. Instead he finds himself saying, “Why do you ask?”

Jonny sputters. Maybe for a beat or two too long. “Patrick. You _got yourself off_ on the phone with me.”

A shiver runs down Patrick’s body. The good kind. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

“So, that’s weird,” Jonny says.

He’s protesting—but there’s something there. Something in his voice. And maybe Patrick’s making it up, but…

“You’re the one who’s still talking to me,” he says.

He’s testing the waters. He hasn’t quite crossed the line yet. If Jonny backs off, if it starts to get weird, Patrick can still play it off as giving Jonny a hard time.

Jonny doesn’t back off. “Not like I’m looking for a repeat performance,” he says.

“No?” Patrick says, his voice sliding deeper.

It’s still not over the line. He can walk it back, if Jonny goes cold—if Jonny says—

“Peeks,” Jonny says, low, a breathless plea.

Patrick’s pulse is loud in his ears. “Did you like it?” he asks, his own voice catching. “Hearing me come. Did you like it?”

“I should just hang up the phone,” Jonny says. His breath is coming fast over the line. “I don’t even know what we…I should just hang up.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t gonna.” Patrick’s whole body is tingling. He can’t feel his fingertips. “You hard?”

There’s a short pause, nothing to hear but Jonny’s breathing. “Yeah,” he says.

“Good. Touch yourself.” Patrick’s dick leaps into his hand as soon as he pulls his underwear down. “You doing it?”

“Yeah.” Jonny’s voice is half moan. “ _Peeks_.”

“Been thinking about this,” Patrick whispers. It feels safe to say it now: his security the way Jonny’s panting into the phone, little helpless moans in each breath. “Fuck, Jonny, been thinking about you.”

“Yeah? Did you—” Jonny’s voice breaks off, a bitten-off curse under his breath. “Were you, this afternoon? When you got off?”

“Yeah, I was.” Patrick moves his hand faster on his cock, a tight blazing tunnel of sensation. “Wasn’t gonna come, but then I heard your voice in my ear.”

“ _Fuck_.” Jonny’s breath is punching out of him. Patrick can picture it: the way he’s probably curled up a little, desperate for it, the sweat shining on his skin. Patrick wants to see it, suddenly: wants to touch him, taste him.

“Come on, Jonny,” he says, his own voice ragged as he thrusts up into his hand. “My turn. Wanna hear you come.”

“Oh, Peeks, _oh,_ ,” Jonny says, and then he’s gasping, gulping for air as he totally loses it in Patrick’s earbuds.

Patrick isn’t prepared for how hard it hits him. Jonny coming over the phone, for _him_ —it catches him in the gut and he spills over, letting out a moan that he only barely manages to keep from getting too loud. He doesn’t care, though; can’t care, when this feels so amazing.

“Fuck,” he says with feeling, as he wrings the last few pulses out of his cock.

“Yeah.” Jonny sounds deeply content. Patrick can picture how he must look: spread out on his bed, his limbs full of languor like after a tough game. Like he used to look sometimes in their shared hotel room. Patrick’s dick twitches.

“So, uh,” he says. “Maybe we do this again sometime?”

Jonny laughs. It’s a slow, rich laugh. “Maybe with visuals next time.”

“Fuck yes,” Patrick says. He stretches, feeling the glow in every limb. “This is something I’m gonna need to screenshot.”


End file.
